Howl at the Shadows
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "Somewhere off in the distance, a dog started crying."  Rorschach/Dan slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to connect to the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is only my second Watchmen story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback. (Technically this is the first Watchmen story I ever wrote, but I got side tracked with "The Definition of Humanity" and worked on that instead).

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 1**_

There was a fading, spray painted mural of a slavering dog etched into the crumbling brick of the alley way. It was superimposed on a stiff, frayed looking American flag that had been painted into the background; the image itself only just visible in the low, flickering light.

The abstract composition spoke volumes about the frenetic nature of the times, displaying the petulant disregard for law and property, the obscene failure of the education system and even that of misplaced nationalism. It was all there, the mistakes wrought by moral flesh, toppled by the siren call of avarice and greed. _Sins of the weak, the lust driven, and the greedy._

But what was worse was the irony that came with the nature of these particular deficiencies. Because in an abase and somewhat capricious way, the fact remained that likely the only attention that would ever be paid to these problems was that of the over worked and under paid city worker left with the task of someday white washing this very same message into oblivion. And more contemptuous still, was the fact that those responsible for this particular defacement were also undeniably correct, whether what the end was result was what they had intended at the time or not.

The method was unlawful, crude, and an offence to the eyes. But here in the back alleys, the narrow dead end streets choked through with the blood and debris of a city slowly suffocating in the growing mires of its own filth, its presence caused barely a ripple. After all, this mural was only one of countless thousands. Graffitists, the wayward artisans of the night, mismatched martyrs for neither cause nor profit. _Hooligans, snivelling children, the undeserving future generation._

And if he had been paying more attention, he might have even noticed it…

Instead, he had been caught off guard. His attention caught on the strange, seemingly gravity defying way that Nite Owl's hair curled when it was soaked through with sweat. Loose pinwheel curls that escaped in the odd tuft from the edges of his cowl, the ends dark with moisture and plastered wetly to his temple. He found himself inexcusably distracted as Daniel grinned over at him, meaningless platitudes and happy words of victory slipping from his lips as he cuffed the last two remaining thugs to the light pole. The sickly neon glow reflecting off his goggles as he turned to face him, his smile easy and all too open as Daniel met his gaze through the protection of his mask.

So that was why he never saw it coming. The last remaining Top Knot huddled down silent and still on the fire escape above them. At least not until it was too late. Because by the time he caught the tail end of the movement, the darkening shadows reflecting off the lens of Daniel's goggles, the man hidden above them was already moving. Body snapping forward with malicious intent, as the low life flung himself off the metal ledge and towards his partner, an unsheathed buck knife flashing a vicious silver in the low city light.

_No._

And as his boot heels dug into the pitted concrete, soles skidding as they caught against the loose gravel and dirt, he caught a glimpse of the wall to his right. It was just a flash, a blur of color and motion that only comes when the lighting is poor and ones focus is elsewhere, but he could have sworn that for a long, impossible moment that the glowering canine had somehow _moved_. But the dog merely looked on, teeth bared in a wordless snarl from its place on the mural, painted deeply into the cracks and crevasses of the decaying brick until it seemed more like an extension of the building itself rather then an offence to it.

The last thing he saw before his body rose, flaring to meet their attacker with the sickening crack of flesh meeting flesh was the sight of its sharp, greying teeth glinting out sullenly under the buzzing, florescent lights, it's jowls pulled back like a warning.

The world went technicolor as darkness blinked spasmodically on the edges of his vision, cutting through all the brightness, all the cacophonous sounds that roared through him, promising nothingness. _Relief. _He moved to shake it away but his limbs only fluttered, alarmingly weak as he tried, and inevitably failed to move. He pulled in a fractured breath, forcing his empty lungs to fill, repeating the action again and again until a measure of clarity returned. The world shifted back in a shattered, piece meal mess of razor sharp edges and dull colors. It was only then that he realized he was lying face down in the gutter; the acrid smell of blood and shit rising, mixed with the rotting debris of a city balanced on the knives edge of perdition. _He was choking in it.._

'_Focus.' _The voice hissed, wounded and angry.

He blinked, chasing the darkness back again and again as it encroached. _Danger. _His brain back peddled frantically, but the darkness was insistent, consuming, and malicious. He scrabbled against the pavement, the pockmarked surface abrasive even under the protection of his thick leather gloves, catching roughly as he struggled to rise. _Only he couldn't. _His legs weren't working anymore. And for the first time in a long time, he tasted the wretched tang of fear.

Rocking slowly, he managed to pull himself to one side, the arch of his hipbone biting into the concrete as his hands found purchase against the rough brick at his back. Pulling himself up until his head was just skimming the graffiti painted paws of the mural above him. Until it looked almost as though the snarling canine was looming above him, honed muscled poised to strike.

His head lurched sideways, lolling exaggeratedly as he sought to bring his eyes back into focus. He felt the nail of his index finger splinter, ripping right along the quick as he tightened his grip on the crumbling pavement. _He didn't even feel the pain._ _Though he knew he would later.. _Nails took a long time to heal, he knew _that_ from experience. Darkness loomed, arching from the shadowed corners of the building at his back as he slowly took in the empty alleyway around him. _Wait, that wasn't right... _His scalp was flowing, hair going liquid red underneath the covering of his face and tricking down from his temples. Like warm sweat and rain. _When had it started raining?_

He looked up, only this time Daniel was straddling him, hunched down in a low protective crouch, lips moving without sound, teeth bared and gleaming in the low light before his muscles bunched and then unfurled, lunging out of sight once more like a bird alighting from a branch, swooping down to strike it's prey. Then he was alone again, with only the ghost of the breeze from his partner's cape, snapping through the air above his head to mark he had ever been there at all… _He was losing time. Something wasn't right.._

There was blood in his mouth, sliding like melted copper across his tongue, rippling down through the grooves and offending his palate until he nearly gagged. He wanted to ease the mask over his lips and spit it out, but he couldn't remember how to move his arms. Instead it seeped down from his lips as he struggled to breathe, his throat working sluggishly as the blood continued to flow, dampening the mask until it was suffocatingly heavy against his lips.

_His skull throbbed._

He had almost forgotten why he was lying there, hands spidering out along the muck encrusted pavement, weakly searching for something he couldn't quite bring himself to define, when he _felt_ more then _heard_ the concussive, meaty impact of a body hitting the ground. Sensing the breathy whoosh as air abruptly left bruised lungs, and hearing the fractured echoes of a long groan of pain that he knew instinctively was _not _Daniels.

_Their assailant..Yes. But he thought he had-.._

His teeth ground together viciously as he felt the vibration of each and every punch Daniel dealt out, slamming their attacker into the wall, against the fire escape, the dumpster, and then to the ground again. The hits sounded furious, and clumsy. As if the mans usual brand of heavy grace and stylistic finesse had been abandoned in favour of blinding rage. The moment where control was abandoned for the release of the feeling..

'_Righteous brutality.' _The voice murmured vindictively, remaining scathing even as his vision started to grey out around the edges, turning the fallen form of his fedora, lost to a puddle of tepid water only inches away into a confused mass of escaping color. He reached out to grasp it, but his hand never made it.

To the left his ears only just caught the screeching grit of dirt and pulverized brick grinding under roving boot heels. The sound rumbled, echoing up to the surface and growing closer until the sudden spray of dirt and filth that pebbled across the fabric of his face caused his head to snap back, body arching instinctively backwards as the static buzzing in the back of his mind reached a sharp, defending crescendo..

Somewhere off in the distance, a dog started crying.

The deck plating was unforgivingly cold; jolting bolts of discomfort up his limbs as Daniel dragged him through the Owl ship's rear hatch. The chill temperature leeching through the blood soaked layers of his costume as though they held the thinness of a single sheet of worn tissue paper. His mind whirled, stuck on the strange nature of the sensation as it seeped in through his tight leather gloves, hitting his bones with a dull, all consuming ache that set his teeth on edge.

_Why was it so cold? _It was still high summer, with the murky city nights almost as sweltering as the muggy heat of the day. Oppressive and heavy. _He hated summer. _The heat brought out the deviancy in droves. It was like spawning season for Mackerel. With the people folding to their baser needs, turning indecent and far too willing the moment the sweat begins to flow.

The pulse at his temples throbbed angrily, as if reproaching him for every tug, pull, and awkward fist full of fabric that Daniel grabbed as he attempted tow him further inside the cockpit. Apparently trying and failing to multi task with the ships systems as he nearly over balanced trying to reach the control to close the off ramp. _The ships hull spun. Caught in a whirl pool orbit undetectable outside the confines of his own conscious mind._

'_Head wound, possible concussion..'_ His brain supplied. The voice snide and all but dripping with distain as it continued. _'Getting sloppy. Distracted, slow, impotent! Got what you deserved.' _It remarked disgustedly.

There were hands digging into the meat of his armpits and the base grunt of Daniel's breath gusting in his ear as he dragged him across the floor, propping him up against the control panel with one last heave of effort. The over polished nub of a joystick dug into the flesh of his shoulder, his elbow dangerously close to the flame thrower controls, but he didn't even have the presence of mind to care. Instead he embraced the harsh edges and unyielding sharpness of the ship already humming to life under his skin. It gave him something to grasp, something to help pull himself away from the welcoming darkness already skirting around the very edges of his vision.

_Because instinctively, even he knew that this was the type of darkness he must run from. _

It was strange, fearing the darkness. Even as a child, the night and its looming shadows had never frightened him. As from a young age he had always known that far worse monsters walked boldly in plain sight, living freely in the world around them under the guise of normalcy and false morality. And after that hard learned realization, the nightmarish spectres of twilight held little sway in his adolescent mind.

_There was more to fear from the light of the day then there ever was in the dark_.

Instead it was the politicians, the privileged elite, the whores, false prophets, molesters, presidents and liars that should be truly feared_. The purveyors of perversion and indecency_. They knew no limitation, no morals, only driven like animals to feed the base need for more…more..._more_..

His chin tipped into his chest. _Tired._

'_Hurt bad. Stay awake. Weakling!' _The voice hissed vehemently. He shook the fog away. But that didn't make any sense either, how could there be fog inside the Owl ship? Daniel obviously hadn't been keeping up on the ships basic maintenance. _Must investigate further._

He realized belatedly that Daniel was talking to him, hands curling around his shoulders, digging into his trench coat and shaking gently as his head lolled back against the edge of the console, struggling to stay upright as Daniel continued to speak incessantly, the words echoing out in demanding, incoherent ripples of sound.

"Rorschach! Rorschach!" There were too many echoes. _Confusion_. He shook his head again, regretting it a moment later as pain lanced down his sinuses, the cloying stink of spilt blood filling his nostrils as he breathed in a series of slow, deliberate breaths. _Focus. Have to-…_

"Hang on buddy. Don't you-… Fuck!..Rorschach?..." Filth was slipping from Daniel's lips, sweat slicked and slippery. _Profanity._ It was unneeded, unwarranted. He was about to tell him so, but he was brought up short when he realized he couldn't find the words. And while such expression had never come easily, this lapse was far different then anything he had ever experienced. It wasn't that he could not find the words to say, it was that he couldn't even begin to form them.. _This wasn't right._

_Head… Aching…Sleep?.. Yes.._

"Rorschach! God damnit!" The world shifted dizzily on its axis and it took him longer then it should have to realize that somewhere along the line he had been moved. As instead of being propped up against the console, all sharp edges and unyielding iron, he was now mashed up against the curve of a broad chest and sinking back into warmth. _Daniel. _His mouth worked in protest, but the words never left his tongue.

_It was only in the quiet that he could hear himself breathe.._

The man leaned forward, hands skittering along the upturned collar of his trench, digging uninvited through the grimy layers of his suit and scarf to flirt with the unsteady beat of his pulse. And as the man's breath ghosted across the newly exposed skin of his neck, his color high, burnished in a stark, ruddy crimson, the sharp tang of fear and adrenaline laden sweat washed over him. _Daniel smelt afraid. _

"..Don't you go anywhere on me man!"

He was just about to remark on the foolishness of such a statement when the Owl ship shuddered. The autopilot controls jolting abruptly, like they often do when the ship slides underneath the surface of the water when they head back towards the Brownstone. But this time the walls began roaring, the rippling echoes shattering through the calm, chasing the sound until the very metal beneath their feet began to sway and buckle. The sound vibrated up through his bones until his tightly clenched teeth screeched together. Enamel meeting enamel with an offensive, chalk grating sound that sent bile surging up his throat.

_It was too much._

Pain seared up his spine, rolling up through his skull in an impossible thrumming rush that broke down every hastily mended barricade, every wall and chasm he had built to keep reality and his own desolate thoughts from spilling over into one another. _Rumbling isolation, self made solitude. _Until he couldn't help but reach up and capture the man hand, still hovering undecidedly just above his shoulder, desperate for something he didn't know how to ask for as his leather gloves curled around the mans gauntlets and pulled tight.

He didn't remember the scream, but his ears recalled the echoes..

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think, and indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N #2:** I am experimenting with a new form of writing in this story. It is a form of 'stream of consciousness' style writing with my own personal twist. So if it seems disassociative, flowing, awkward, or seemingly out of style, it was most likely deliberately meant. I was/am trying to capture Rorschach's state of mind, both normally and in terms of the events of the plot, so hopefully this experiment works out. Let me know either way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This story connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to fit into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 2**_

He woke to the sensation of cool air trickling across the naked skin of his neck. It smelled stale and slightly metallic, tinged with the barest hints of coolant and iron shavings. _Forced air.. The inside of the Owl ship. _His lids stuttered. Twitching reflexively as the lashes ghosted across the inside of his face, vainly attempting to internalize the disturbance. He cracked a tentative lid, but immediately regretted it, slamming it shut only a half a second later as pain lanced across his retinas.

_Everything was too bright. Too sharp. _

Instead he forced himself to bide his time. Opening his eyes only marginally, and letting the sensitive orbs get accustom to the bright overheads as his other senses worked to fill in the gaps. Feeling and touch were quick to follow suit, all too keenly registering the sensation of the metal grating as it dug into the seat of his trousers, pinching at the meat of his thighs as the thickening slick of blood coursed uninhibited down the length of his back. Trickling down from his mangled scalp as Daniel breathed at his back, the motion unsteady yet dependably rhythmic.

But out of the corner of his eye, his mind still absorbed the way the ink blots were now swirling counter clock wise across the surface of the mask, stuttering and panicked as realization slowly dawned. _Something wasn't right. Missing.._

'_Scarf gone..' _His mind supplied. The voice pitching high as he realized he was lying supine across the floor. The thin layer of his undone trench coat shed around him, as the awkward tugging sensation he had originally taken for the jerking hum of the Owl Ship's engines became Daniel kneeling cross legged above him, bare fingers working feverishly on the buttons of his pinstripe suit.

Daniel's movements were fast and efficient, but his fingers were shaking. As if he cared. He could almost see it. The emotion starkly evident in the unhappy bob of his Adam's apple as his throat worked; sweat rolling down from his temples despite the ships cool, recirculated air. _Daniel looked..Daniel looked like he-_

_NO. Not that. He didn't..He wouldn't-_

He tried to back away, as if he could somehow flee from the disoriented nature of his own muddled thoughts, but he was already flat on the ground. Pressed hotly against the engine warmed floor, his skin all but humming against the metal grating as Daniel worked feverishly above him.

'_Tawdry and easy, like a cheap whore.' _The voice growled, rumbling like a wounded animal in the back of his mind as he struggled to sit up. Abused muscles automatically stiffening as the voice's disgusted tone resonated through the lingering static. _It was right..get up.._

"Shhh, buddy. It's okay… _It's okay_. It's just me." The man murmured, as if that fact would somehow be of some comfort as the last button on his suit pulled free and the man made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he took in the row of tiny, worn little buttons that made up the three piece, inner vest.

_And if he could have summoned up the energy he might have even spared the moment to be righteously smug. _

Tight nature of the buttons alone was a major part of the reason why he particularly liked that vest. It enforced the virtues of patience and sensibility and expanded the integrity of the methodically inclined individual rather then giving precedence to the mindset of the everyday jack. And though he recognizes it for what it is, a growingly obsolete style, he believes it also stands as a fascinating reminder of the fact that all too often, such virtues and practices seem to end with the fashions and times that upheld them. _Shame._

The voice made a vague, wordless little noise as Daniel's breath, exertion heavy and tinged with frustration gusted across the length of his undone trench, tracing his collarbone with a feather light touch that had his nerve ending sparking. He didn't know what that meant, but he breathed in sharply. The ragged, vaguely liquidly sounding noise drawing the man's gaze back up to his face in a blinding flash of night goggles glancing off the bright overhead lights.

_And under the shelter of the ink blots he couldn't help but wince._

Thick fingers pressed against his neck, sliding through untidy crimson as Daniel searched for his pulse once again. _So much naked skin._ Unconsciously he counted out the beats in time with the two fingers now absorbing the sensations that thrummed along the taunt cords of his neck. The song was slow. _Too slow…_

'_Bad sign..' _The voice remarked inanely, staying remarkably silent about the fingers that lingered far too long at the base of his throat, apparently in favour of stating the rampantly obvious. Discomfort churched violently in his gut as uncertainty reined. _Daniel seemed different, felt different. _There was more give to his muscles, more precedence to his usual, gentling movements. Yet everything was underlain with an almost frantic tension. He didn't understand the correlation.

_His right leg twitched, jerking him roughly to the side as a neuron misfired. His head swum. Murky and thick. Until he was drowning in base images..Flickers. Where nothing was permanent, nothing was sure…Safe._

"Damnit. Gotta get you to a hospital buddy." The man remarked, fingers sliding from his skin as he shifted his weight with disgusting ease, moving until he was propped up against the mans side, fingers tangling in the buttons of his waist coat again, only just skimming the straps of the thin, threadbare wife beater he wore underneath. _Persistent._

"No.." He wheezed, the word coming out in an oddly pitched growl. Throat working violently as he processed through what the man had actually said. _No..No hospital. No doctors. Never that._

"Rorchach..This is bad, I can't just-."

"Bourgeois conspiracy at public hospital. Criminal element operating under guise of open, liberal politics.." He gritted out. "Possible organ harvesting operation to rid population of undesirable elements of society. Haven't had time to investigate further." He elaborated, frustration piercing through him when the words came out sounding brittle and paper thin as the rough of edge of his voice dissipated in the air like mist.

Daniel looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted another limb. Reddened lips working momentarily as he made to speak then abruptly thought better of it. Daniel knew better then to ask if he was joking by now. _He was learning. _Instead the man coughed and shifted in place, the Kevlar of his costume squeaking reproachfully as he reached up to the console and wordlessly adjusted the auxiliary controls.

_It was then that he saw it.._

There was blood smeared up to the wrists on Daniels hands. He blinked, vision blurring. Had Daniel been hit? Had he failed to save partner? He watched, almost removed from the action itself, as his hand reach out, leather gloves creaking audibly despite the ragged cadence of his breathing as he rubbed a crude swipe through the fresh emission. "Where are you hit?" He demanded, pointedly ignoring the way his voice petered off in the end. Tone pitching as he sought to regain control of himself, as a queer sensation coursed through him, making his stomach churn and roil.

But the man only made a half strangled noise, turning his face away as his whole body quaked. _He didn't understand. What was it? What was wrong?_

Time began stretching again, stringing out and doubling into itself in a never ending series of time staggered loops and spangled spots that flashed, beacon-like in his vision. His head spun, he couldn't keep up. _He couldn't-. _With an agonizing start the last remnants of his waning strength trickled out from his tightly wound muscles like water streaming from a kitchen sieve. The loss causing him to collapse into the unforgiving curve of Daniel's chest, all taunt muscle and malleable flesh held together by the same steady, rhythmic beat that he could feel echoing throughout his very skin.

"Oh Jesus….Buddy, I need to see it. I have to see how bad it is…" Daniel muttered, fingers gentling across the back of his head, skimming the edges around where his skull opened up into a gaping maw of venerable, angry softness. '_Weakness of the flesh..Predilection..Deficiency..' _The voice whispered.

But the worst thing was that he could actually feel it, the low rush of blood, the slow, sluggish thrum of his pulse beating out at his temple. He felt irrevocably marked by it. _Stained_. A mistake made flesh, torn flesh, _his flesh_. It was the consequence of his inattention and failure. Ironic that after all this time, after cautioning Daniel in regards to his innate soft heartedness, that it would be _him_ that failed to follow through with his own advice. _Perhaps there was a god after all.._

"Rorschach..I need to see it."

He wondered vaguely, his mind spiralling off into darkness, all soft edges and leeching warmth, what would happen if he closed his eyes. His lashes fluttered. _He was so tired. _He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. Between mandatory overtime at work and their nightly patrols, rest had been decidedly precious of late. There were simply too many deviants out roaming the streets and scant few Watchmen worthy of the title…especially these days.

But he must have said something of that aloud because the world abruptly shifted, and Daniel was speaking again, one hand shaking lightly at his shoulder as the fingers of his other hand curled underneath the very edges of his mask."No! Rorschach! Don't you _dare_ man! Stay awake."

_It took him a moment to remember why that was such a bad thing._

He breathed in heavily, throat burning all the way down as he forced air down into his starving lungs. His face was wet, sodden through with blood, and Daniel was still playing with the edges, his thick finger tips curling underneath. _Threatening. No. This was Daniel. Daniel was partner. Daniel wouldn't…_

'_He will see!'_ The voice shrilled._ 'He will see you! The sickness, perversion, filth! All of it!'_ It yelled, with the sheer strength of its vehemence enough to force words up from his mangled throat once again. _It took more effort then it should have._

"No…" He breathed, the word barely audible, but he knew Daniel had heard because he felt him stiffen. Muscles twitching just underneath the skin like the rising scruff of a disgruntled canine. _He felt the aftershocks.._

"Rorschach… _Rorschach!_" His teeth grated together as the man's strong frame whipped him back and forth, frustrated anger finally taking hold as he yarded him further into his arms, the points of the man's knees digging brutally into the lean muscle of his back. _Sharp bone meeting malleable flesh. Venerable softness. _But he couldn't seem to bring himself to move away..

"You have to let me see it! If…if you don't, you might die!" The words came out half strangled, thick with an emotion he couldn't quite define. There was anger, fear, frustration, and the uncommon baser stench of half panicked indecision. But it was all wrapped up in something bigger, something he just couldn't put a name to.

…_Die?_

The voice fell silent.

"Please Rorschach.."

He swallowed hard, throat working furiously, trying to choke down the molten stink of over smelted metal and thick phlegm. He felt as though he might be slowly drowning. Betrayed by the very body he abused to its limit each and every night when darkness fell. The street lights spluttering on only grudgingly as the solicitors of perversion and unlawfulness crept out into the spotty urban lights. Ozymandias might have called it a cruel irony. The Comedian would have just laughed, sucking on that ever present cigar clenched tightly between his teeth, lips twitching as the skin tingled, soaked through with salvia sodden nicotine. Fingers trembling only slightly as the man all but itched to put the cancerous indulgence to light.

_Filthy habits. Addiction. Vice.._

The options were quickly weighed. The pros and cons systematically considered and rejected as his mind worked, desperate to find another way. But there was nothing. And like an apple being cored from the outside in, he felt something shatter deep within in him when he finally nodded. The motion so slight that he wasn't sure the man even noticed it until he spoke.

"…I…_Hell_.._I can't_." The man breathed, fingers still curled around the very edges of the mask, the tips all but twitching indecision. A resigned sort of panic had descended by then, blanketing over the regret, frustration and indecision until he was left with only the choice that circumstance had led him to make. Logic and need overriding the concerns of everything else, making the reasons he had laid out in his mind for just such an occasion seem suddenly incomprehensible, and remarkably pithy_._.

"I just.._Not like this_.." The man tried to explain, head snapping up in frustration and discomfort as Daniel let his hand fall on his shoulder, the edges of his gauntlets catching against the layers of his undone suit and vest. The muscles of his forearm making half aborted little movements with every pressure laden breath the man was forced to take.

_He held back a shiver. But only just…_

The words _shouldn't_ have made sense. He was sure of it. And yet, despite the fact that he was sprawled out across the deck plating, likely all but bleeding out in Daniel's arms, it was _**there**_ that the startling burst of clarity hit.

_Because he knew what Daniel meant. _

The moment dragged on like the closing move of a championship chess match. A game where both players are evenly matched and on the cusp of the final piece, the final move that will determine the victor. A game where there can be no ties, no stalemates or second chances, only blood, disappointment, and pieces of a moment that you can never put back in exactly the same way.

_The board had been set, and it was his move._

Above him, Daniel had stopped breathing.

Because with more effort then he could ever remember using on so small a thing, he dug his free hand into the flesh of the man's thigh, fingers sinking into the Kevlar as he sought purchase to steady himself. The roar in his ears was all encompassing, and as his other hand reached up, fingers ripping across the sheer fabric edges, and curling underneath like fingernails coursing across an open wound, he tore off his face in one horrifyingly abrupt movement…

_Purifying yet appallingly painful._

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This story connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to fit into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Authors Note #2:** Huge thank you to my three reviewers! You have really spurred me on to continue this story! I adore you all!

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 3**_

…There was a breeze on his face. _No..Not face. _Face gone. _He was stripped._._Naked_.

He shuddered in sudden understanding, a tepid sort of disbelief at his own rash actions streaming over him like water coursing over flawless steel. Smooth and streamlined, but undeniably separate.

The overhead lights flickered softly, the warm amber glow swaying only slightly as the Owl Ship's engines thrummed on below their feet. _He could feel it.. _He could feel the vibrations humming up through the density of his bones as if he were merely an extension of the ship itself.. Like an errant, disembodied limb.._A function without a source.._

_Purpose..He needed purpose..He wasn't-_

There was a bead of sweat working its way down from Daniel's temple, threatening to run right down his cheek and free fall into open space if allowed the chance. But instead of entertaining thoughts about heady exertion or overwhelming heat, it reminded him more of lyrical finishes and the soothing splatter of a coming rainstorm.

There had been a song he had heard a number of times in his youth, drifting down from the apartment above his room, sung by an old woman who only sang when it rained. It had been a song about the consequences of war and human greed. About spilt blood and lonely tin soldiers. Even at nine years of age he had been undeniably enthralled. After all, the message seemed all too poignant as his mother's strange men came and went, and the noises that he sought to escape from only grew louder and all the more perverse as the nights wore on.

She had been completely tone deaf, and had slipped him sweet candies and peppermint sticks from the depths of her pockets every time they passed on the stair well. Always calling him by name when they did, humming gently to herself as she tottered unsteadily down the narrow steps. The sleeves of her floral coat were worn and scuffed, but the warm smile never left her pale, wrinkled lips..

She had always said his name like it was a blessing, rather then an insult or a curse. She had even told him that she had known a good man by the same name. A man who had given her the tarnished gold ring that bedecked her second to last finger, a man that she missed very much.

_It was during that time that he had grown to love the rain.._

He had called her 'ma'am' and had learned to look forward to those brief little moments. Memorizing every detail of their encounters so he could relive them countless times afterwards, on days when the refrigerator stayed empty and his mother never left the confines on her room. Only staggering out in the early morning when the endless procession of men had finally slowed to a trickle and she had bruises on her face instead of make up.

But eventually there had come a day when the rain had started pouring down the cheap metal sliding, sluicing across his filthy window as the heavens opened wide above them. Only this time there had been no reply. He had waited, poised directly underneath the ceiling vent for hours, but there had been nothing. No songs, nor even the comforting purr of a muted, lilting hum. _Nothing._

He had pounded on her door until he upset the neighbours and the building manager had to be called. Not giving up until the large, and rather imposing looking owner had started knocking on her door as well, the entire corridor over brimming with curious tenants as the smells from at least a dozen different households began wafting into the crowded hallway. He found out later, according to the apartment gossip, that she had passed away in her sleep some days before. Only no one had noticed..no one had even thought to check on her before he had all but beaten down her front door.

His mother had said _'good riddance',_ muttering that she had never liked the old woman anyway. He had said nothing, accepting the resulting slap across the cheek wordlessly when he remained silent. But in the relative privacy of his room, he discovered that he still remembered how to cry.

_There were no more songs after that. And he hadn't welcomed the rain since._

There were hands were running through his hair, softly teasing the gore stiffened strands up from where they had been plastered to his skull, the radioactive red of his hair darkened into an obscene shade dark crimson.

He still couldn't see. Vision gone, taken, robbed. Like face. _No…_removed face. Daniel had _asked.._Daniel had _needed. _The fingers paused in mid stroke, thick calloused pads softening the hurt out of him, rubbing it away like when the man worked on the Owl ship. _Gentle..coaxing..sure.._

_Daniel._

He was sure there were words, but he didn't understand them. There were only dull, cacophonous sounds that throbbed at the base of his skull. _Compounding and inescapable._ He imagines they were meant to be comforting..but he has never really understood the word. _Understanding has always been elusive. Slippery._

Half dried flakes of partly congealed blood flecked across the hollows of his eyes, stirred by the soft strokes still coursing rhythmically across his scalp. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt before. There were no adjectives to describe it, no definitions nor even consonant sounds. _It was new, exploratory, unformed…different._

He was wrapped up in comfort, coddled in softness and deep, blanketing warmth. _'Indulgence.'_ The voice supplied, but the tone was quiet, sounding ragged and rather subdued from its usual place in the back of his mind. But for once he pretended that he hadn't heard, and instead he shifted infinitesimally. Registering the luxurious feel of the fined stitched threading as it brushed against the hard hewn flesh of his belly, his shirt yarded up a few awkward inches to bare a thin strip of scarred, pockmarked freckles against the underside of the blankets.

'_Delerious..Blood loss-.' _The voice insisted, cutting itself off with a series of low, gravely purrs as the sensation spread, the sheets ghosting along the venerable insides of his arms as he twitched minutely underneath.

He smelt the vague, fading remnants of antiseptic lingering in the close air between them. _An unneeded luxury. _The man shouldn't have bothered. _Daniel should have known that better by now. _It had the stink of corporations growing fat by playing off consumer fears of infection and disease. Microfilm images of gangrenous wounds playing to the tune of the company jingle, as richly painted whores daubed the pretty knees of chubby children. Their perfect little lips sporting sudden smiles over tear stained faces as colourful Band-Aids were applied with insincere smiles. _Lies._ They didn't really care.. Not like Daniel.

The room tipped on its head as the world abruptly went arse over tit. He couldn't seem to find his balance. He thought he saw a smudge of dowdy brown and the glint of optic lens's catching in the near light admist the empty space to his right. But he couldn't be sure.

_He hurt._ That was what registered last. After all, it was a familiar sensation, most days often the only relevant one. _It was grounding, sure, permanent. _In many ways he all but coveted the sharp aches and cracked ribs simply for the virtues of what they stood for, the exaltation of justice, righteousness, and the moral good. So in reality, this time shouldn't have been any different. Only somehow, it was. _Because now everything burned. _Shrivelling and curling into flame as the enveloping heat burrowed deep inside, squirming through the thinness of his skin like a creature of vermin. Unwanted and unwelcome.

And he didn't know..He didn't know if he could-..

…The dog was still whimpering…

**A/N #1: **Sorry this chapter is so short, that is part of the reason I updated so early. I was having issues with separating the work into 'memory bites' in accordance to the way I am working through Rorschach's thoughts as well as the plot, and for some reason last time my separation characters weren't showing up, no matter what I used on the site. Thus, the short chapter.

**A/N #2:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N #3:** The song in which I am referring to is: "One Tin Solider" by Maureen McGovern if you are interested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This story connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to fit into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** A new chapter. Because **Black Wolther** is a deliciously cruel task master. (Besides, I half believe the threats! HEE!) Don't say I never spoil you guys.

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 4**_

He blinked himself awake sometime later, the skin tight and swelled as his lashes brushed against the exaggerated hollows below his lids. Struggling to bring the world back into focus, barely holding onto consciousness as he skated the thin chasm that bridged the gap between them. _Awareness and oblivion. Two separate sides of the same double edged sword._

He tracked back through his recent memory, irritation and confusion only growing when he realized he couldn't account for the lost time. _Everything had gone fluid, with one moment almost indistinguishable from the last as the minutes oozed past. _It made him think of watches with over drawn batteries and lazy days where even the sun itself seems reluctant to leave the distant horizon, staining the sky an orange hued crimson as it slowly descends…A overly dramatic mess of saturated color and starkly angled darkness..

_He was missing something.._

He felt displaced, unfettered.. Like the needle of a compass that had strayed to far from it's center.. Because if he knew one thing for certain, it was that he was longer in the Owl Ship. _The air was different. Cooler.. Tinged with dust, fabric softener, and Old English Leather cologne. _His mind skid to a sudden halt. _He knew this place..._

_The Brownstone…_

His clenched fists kneaded rhythmically into the plush duvet, battered hands sinking into the soft goose down as if it were some sort of compulsion. Only the nervous habit backfired somewhere along the way when the action unintentionally released the man's scent into the close air. And by sheer proximity alone he couldn't help but breathe it in, all but tasting the man on his tongue as his fingers clutched spasmodically against the crumpled, royal blue fabric.

_He was wrapped up in Daniel's sheets with bad thoughts._

'_Like a whore in heat..'_ The voice supplied. Horrified, he struggled to sit up. But Daniel only pushed him back, completing the action with worrisome ease, seeming to appear at his side from out of no where. It didn't matter in the end however, because bile rose up in his throat and his head spun. He faded back into the pillows without complaint, swallowing thickly. Lashes ghosting the blackened hollows beneath his eyes as he squeezed them shut, trying desperately to stop the world from spinning.

And after a time the nausea gradually subsided, tempering out to a reluctant gurgle that echoed hollowly in his empty stomach. He chose to see that as a victory. _As small a thing as it was.._

He felt strangely light. Like the high, puffed up clouds that you can only really see on one of those rare, pollution free days in early summer. Days where the sky seems to stretch up so far that you swear, if you could only reach high enough, that your fingers could almost brush up against the stratosphere. Normal people might have smiled at that thought, self deprecating lips upturning the slightest of bits as their thoughts entertain memories of past summer days under the searing sun. Days muted with soft colors and the soothing chill of melting ice cream, sliding slick and creamy against their tongues._ But not him. He didn't have a memory to compare it to.._

The muffled strains of the New York farm report warbled out softly from the radio down the hall. It was the old, sturdy looking one that rested on the corner table in the hall just before the guest bedroom, the one that had the look of having been passed down for at least three generations or more. He knew because he had admired it once, not that long ago when he had arrived early for their nightly patrol and caught the man only half ready, occupying himself with prowling the halls restlessly as he waited.

He shifted in place, trying to place the feeling of silk sliding across his skin. But the sensation was elusive and he couldn't find the words within him in which to ask.

Instead he automatically started taking stock of himself, his tongue counting each and every tooth as if it where something as inherent and natural as breathing._ It was almost ritualistic._ With his tongue sliding across the crooked front teeth, skidding a bit against the slimy layer of plaque and still trickling copper. Undeniably surprised to find that he had no less then he had started out with at the beginning of their patrol.

'_Lucky. Too lucky..' _The voice hissed.

Off to his right, a glass of water sat stagnant on the bedside table. Perspiring quietly in the silence as beads of partially evaporated water coursed periodically down it's smooth, opaque sides. _Tempting..inviting.. Like a mortal sin._

He had read once that it could take anywhere from three to five days to die of dehydration, depending on the conditions and circumstances. He wondered idly how long it had been since the alley way, how long since he'd been able to keep track of the hours and stay awake longer then a string of minutes between unconsciousness and wakefulness.

_How long?_

His eyes followed the progress of a bead that was still balancing on the rim, seeming to defy gravity entirely as it clung to the side for a halting, age long moment. The _New Yorker _had once done a story, publishing an account on the current state of the cities public drinking water. The investigation had shown evidence of contaminants and the possibility of the presence of experimental chemicals. _Typical. _

_It was an obvious government funded conspiracy to entice citizens into purchasing and stockpiling large quantities of bottled water. No doubt a poly to benefit voting tallies and government pocketbooks.._

It was only when he saw the blurred reflection in the moisture beaded glass that he realized he was being observed. _Stared at... _Eager eyes roving across his features much like a person does when faced with a particularly complex looking jigsaw puzzle. Only this time the person in question is unaware that the box from which it came from lay dog-eared and crumpled. With most of its pieces inexplicably missing…

_He wondered off handedly if the man would find that disappointing.._

"Staring Daniel…" He rasped, breathing in a long, unsteady breath that caused the looming shadows to his left to fracture and flow. Coiling up from the musty smelling carpet to swirl in confused blots around the curve of Daniel's down turned chin, the low light glinting welcomingly off the man's corrective lens as starbursts blossomed across his vision.

He slipped head first back into the darkness before he heard the man reply.

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This story connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to fit into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 5**_

He woke to thoughts of back starting cars limping along on faulty carburetors. Burning up too much oil and choking on far too much rust as the newer makes and models roared on by, lapping their unsteady predecessors ten fold as streams of street side dirt hushed quietly into the unsympathetic, city gutters.

The light outside was all wrong. Too bright when his body told him he had been asleep for far longer. It had only been a few hours before dawn when they had been attacked. _How long had he been here? _And as if on cue, flickering images of crumbling brick exteriors, glinting steel and snarling dogs pushed insistently at the very edges of his conscious thought, but he tore through them. Refusing to dwell in the places that thoughts such as those inevitably led.. Spiralling off into pointless _what ifs _and _second guesses_.

'_Too long. Weak.' _The voice snarled. _'Get up. Leave! He already knows too much.' _It hissed, the tone pitched high with an emotion he had never heard before, something barely suppressed, panicked. _Volatile. _His mind whirled as the full conations of that thought finally sunk in. The voice was afraid. The voice had_ never_ been afraid before.

In the near distance, screaming emergency sirens echoed jarringly down the lonely city streets. It felt strange not to be hearing them first hand. Even now his limbs twitched, longing for action. _Purpose. _But as the sirens wailed past, fading off into fracturing echoes and near obscurity, he felt as if he had been somehow left behind_. Lost and forgotten in the lengthening city dust. Muscles and sinews left to moulder and decay as injustice and perversion spread out onto the already crowded city streets. _

The mere thought alone rankled him deeply.

He wasn't used to this..This forced inactivity..inaction..

_..Frustrated anger churned, burbling just under the surface. Dangerous and unpredictable.._

He blinked into the near light, just catching a glimpse of the light streaming in through the shutters, softly arcing against the partially closed blinds as the rays glanced across the window pane.. _Dying. _It was close to evening again. _How many hours had he lost? He kept forgetting to ask.._

He breathed in nosily, but even that hurt. _Everything hurt._

'_Run.'_ The voice urged. He agreed. Daniel had been inconvenienced enough because of his own carelessness. If he hadn't been so inexcusably distracted, this wouldn't have even happened in the first place. Further imposition was not warranted. He had dealt with worse injuries before. _Alone…_ And just because he couldn't think up any specific examples at this point didn't make that fact any less true…

He moved to sit up regardless. Ignoring the searing throb that coursed down his spine entirely as his sharp elbows dug into the mound of pillows at his back. But Daniel's hand was swift, decisive, and strong, almost as if he had expected the action.

"Oh no buddy, you aren't going anywhere. Sit back." The man coaxed firmly, his large palm spread wide against his chest as his fingers upset the hang of his dirty, prematurely grey wife beater. The stench of warm sweat and unfamiliar fabric softener rose abruptly..Coursing up through his senses as smoothly as his lungs did when breathing in air..

"Let go Daniel." He grunted, ignoring the man entirely as he threw back the covers. Toes curling into the crushed coverlet as he braced himself, limbs stretching automatically as the cooler air streamed across his sweat slicked skin. _He would be coddled no longer._

"Lay back." The man insisted, sweater sleeves skimming across the naked skin of his arms as confident hands propelled him backwards once more. "Take it easy Rorschach.._Take it easy_.." Daniel soothed, voice sounding absurdly fond, yet still tinged with that all too familiar tone of gentle exasperation as the hand continued to press him back. _Allowing him no quarter..no escape…_

He didn't know where the energy came from, but he was squirming now, hemmed in and confined. Desperately yearning for the clarity…for the iron clad resolve that his face had always provided. Where there was never any second guessing, fear, nor even weakness. But it was gone now, probably bled through and unsalvageably stained, leaving him stripped bare of its protection for the first time since he had first pulled it on. _Naked. _

_It was not a calming thought._

"…_Daniel.." _

"I said _**no**_ Rorschach." The man replied, voice carefully neutral but insufferably firm, as if endeavouring not to upset him even as he pushed him back into the stack of pillows, hands resting dangerously close to the bare skin of his arms as he tucked the covers back around him.

'_Needlessly fussing.'_ The voice returned, but he was too caught up in the way the mans hands were now smoothing down the coverlet, mere inches from where his left palm was resting, his body almost shaking with a sudden burst of nervous tension to pay the voice much mind.

_Daniel always did have an overly developed sense of humanism. _

Only this time the man didn't pull away. Instead Daniel let his hands linger, hemming him in on both sides, his face so close that he could smell the scent of clean sweat, caffeine and that flavoured creamer the man seemed to be favouring of late. It was a heady mixture of steel covered softness..tinged by the tang of rough metal shavings and caustic engine coolant. _This was familiar…It was Daniel..It was something he-.._

_..The man's sudden closeness unnerved him in a way he couldn't even begin to put into words…_

'_Petty indulgence._' The voice whispered, apparently retreating back into less confusing territory as the man sat back, lips wrapping around the rim of his coffee mug with a tempered sort of tired grace. Yet this time the words were still uncertain, as if suddenly unsure of the vehemence lingering in the backdrop of his conscious mind.

His veiled eyes tracked every movement as the man leaned forward in his chair, the old leather creaking warningly as restless legs crossed and then uncrossed in apparently indecision. Hands tripping down the long length of his trouser clad thighs as he minutely adjusted the sheets needlessly.His fingers worried the high thread count spasmodically; the nails slightly blackened from months of engine maintenance and the scars of more then a few minor electrical burns, mementos of hard labour and due diligence. _Daniel had working hands now. _

_The neon auburn hairs on the back of his arms rose. Standing up like the scruff that rises along a feline's spine the moment before it hisses and unsheathes its claws. _

The man finally pulled away with a sigh, looking for a moment like he was about to say something more before subsiding into a brooding silence from the chair he had dragged clear across the room, now resting only a few feet from the bed.

_He himself felt positively mulish. _

His frustration had only mounted at that however, because he knew _that _tone. He had only been on the receiving end of it once. Back when he had taken a knife thrust between the ribs and gotten too worked up at the thought of having to remove his trench coat and three piece suit to realize that it was slightly more serious then he had initially thought. The argument had ended with him receiving a well placed fist to the back of the skull, and he had woken up in the bathtub of Daniel's bathroom halfway through the stitching job and given the man a bloody nose before he realized what was going on.

_He hadn't apologized for it either._ _Daniel had a mean, if not rarely used left hook._

They hadn't spoken for nearly two weeks after that, but in the end he had been somewhat grateful. Because logically he knew he probably would have done himself more harm then good attempting to stitch that up on his own. _But still.._

"_Daniel..." _He tried again. Tone tempered down to being slightly hedging. But to his credit the man didn't buy it. _He knew better._

"_**NO**__ Rorschach."_ The man might be too soft hearted for his own good, but sometimes, especially when he sported _that _tone, it was like trying to argue your way out of a brick wall.

…And for one of the first times in his life, he began to realize why the use of expletives in certain situations might actually be of some merit….

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** This story connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to fit into the universe of this fandom _before_ the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). All that I am aware of canon-wise is the events of the movie, thus this fiction revolves around my own interpretations of the movie (not the graphic novel). It is a Rorschach fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. This is only my second Watchmen story so I am especially looking for constructive feedback. (Technically this is the first Watchmen story I ever wrote, but I got side tracked with "The Definition of Humanity" and worked on that instead).

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 6**_

He didn't realize he had fallen back asleep until he suddenly found himself being shaken awake. With Daniel's voice soothing any vestiges of sleep laden panic before they could even so much as form. The man's hands were solid and warm against his shoulder, fingers sliding off the thin straps of his wife beater to splay across his shoulder in a way that seemed all but provincial, exuding comfort and concern rather then discomfort and foul intentions.

_He couldn't even bring himself to flinch._

Instead he took the proffered mug of water with an accenting grunt, as if it were simply his due, notably careful not to trap the man's thumb in the handle as he wrapped his hands around the cool ceramic. Covertly, he let his gaze pan out across the room, slowly reacquainting himself with the unexpected sight of Daniel's master bedroom.

He forced himself to remain silent when a quick inspection of the room revealed no sign of his missing face. And he couldn't help but wonder if Daniel had done that on _purpose_. He wondered if the man considered it fair retribution for all the times he had unmasked before him in the past. Perhaps Daniel thought he did not trust him? The idea itself seemed inanely ludicrous, but then again, Daniel _had_ misunderstood him before..

"How bad?" He finally asked, sitting up slightly against the mound of pillows before sipping slowly at the water. It tasted _clean..wholesome. _He savoured each mouthful, letting the unexpected coolness sluice out the remaining blood and grit that still lingered between the crooking rows of his teeth. Fraying nerves sparking only slightly as the cool liquid pooled along the base of a few of the more recent untreated chips and breaks. _But he embraced the sensation. _With the arrowing discomfort helping to distract him from thoughts he had no business entertaining.

_No, he no right. He shouldn't be thinking thoughts about why Daniel had two spare bedrooms and yet had chosen to place him in his own.. Or why the desk chair from the Daniel's study, the one that was well worn and ludicrously over stuffed, had been dragged clear across the hall and now rested at his bed side.._ Besides, he had the distinct impression that he wouldn't be savouring the answers..

"You look like shit." The man remarked coolly, not fully answering his question as he settled back down into the chair, seemingly content for the moment to ignore him entirely as he nursed his own mug. _Coffee again by the scent of it…_ Unused to the man's distance and bad temper he glowered until the man answered him properly.

"You've been mostly out of it for close to three days. I had to put fifteen stitches into the back of your head and shoulder just to keep everything where it _should_ be. You lost too much blood Rorschach. I wasn't sure..I mean-.._God damnit._" The man cut himself off with an abrupt slam of his fist against the arm rest. The wood underneath the cushioning creaking alarmingly, but they both ignored it.

He lifted his lips from the rim, eyes shifting from the blank wall in front of him to where the man was sitting. _Daniel was angry. _He cocked his head perceptively, not quite understanding the man's suddenly shift of emotion. _Had he done something wrong? _

But if he had, the man didn't immediately illuminate him. Instead Daniel blew out a long, frustrated breath, his eyes flicking from his face and then back to the clenched fists already curling unconsciously in his lap. He could practically feel the tension despite the distance between them._ The air was thick with it. Viscous and choking.._ It was obvious now that the man was clearly shoring himself up for something..

"Why?" Daniel finally demanded, the word coming out in a compounding rush of base sound and barely released pressure. _The kind of sound that hurts as it comes up..Tearing and ripping at soft, venerable flesh as it echoes up through the throat and into the open air. _In itself that mans tone broached no argument. With forceful words demanding an equally as impressive answer.

_Only this time he had nothing to give._

_Why?_ He hadn't thought why, he had just done it. There had been no doubt, no pause or second guessing. Only truth, only action. _Simplicity_. The way it was supposed to be. He didn't quite know how to explain something he felt inherently. Something that was good..and righteous in a way he had never before experienced. Perhaps there weren't any words for it at all.. Perhaps this was something that mere words could never hope to describe or even define..

"God damn it Rorschach. Tell me why!"

Somewhere downstairs, the mantle clock chimed out the hour. High pitched tones melding together with the lower, more dulcet ones. Creating a strange, lilting melody that had always served to capture his attention. Making his fingers itch to sneak inside, to understand the mechanism that could create such complex sounds, to understand how a mere machine could create something so palatable.

_But not today._

"You are partner.." He began, trailing off as his muddled brain struggled to pull out an excuse that seemed as least halfway plausible as he fought to find the same reason inside himself. _Why?_ His mind chased the tail edges of the echoes. Struggling. _He didn't understand.._

Memories flashed through his mind. Flickering black and white images of every moment they had shared since they had first met. _Moments he had squirreled away and kept safe. _Because much like the humming old woman with her soft songs and gentle smile, he remembered them all..

He had kept the memory of Daniel flowing from the underbelly the Owl ship, soaring downward in a single leap that was as elegant and powerful as the birds of prey he so admired. With his high topped Kevlar boots crushing the crumbling pavement beneath his feet as his cape flapped through the air like a single, overly large wing. Even then, the man's movements had been sure and confident, as if he had finally discovered what it meant to exist in his one, **true **skin. _A sensation he knew only too well. _

_That had been the first night, a night where he had watched from afar, and remained silent. Vowing at the end, whilst the man's set about cuffing his downed foes, that he would learn more about this new Watchman.. _Only back then he had no idea what that night would mean…for the both of them..

There were microfilm images of a hundred different smiles, each one easy, and honest. With no evidence of malice or hardness, No tempered edges or impurities. A smile he still didn't completely understand. Because Daniel's lips were never still, never unkind. In fact they were always moving, open and upturned..living his life as if he didn't know the truth. That society was dissolving underneath their feet, crammed to the brim with perversion and wickedness. _He had never understood how Daniel, who knew those growing flaws better then most, could still find the opportunity in which to smile.._

..But perhaps more tellingly, he still kept the complexities of the moment where he thought he _finally _understood the meaning of that disgustingly common, and over used word… That of _'beautiful.'_..

For once the voice was dead silent.

He lurched past errant thoughts of political scandal and government litigation and paused on not so distant memories of self gratification and engorged flesh. Moments he wished he could simply bury and forget, placing them six feet deep and safe from judging eyes. Safe from himself. .._Filthy, impulsive, disgusting_.. They were the same moments where letters and syllabus were drawn painfully and unwilling past his tightly clenched lips. Moments where the echoes made him blush, going hot with shame and curling into himself as the final tremors wracked his unwilling frame.

_But for him it was never over.. _Because in time his mortification and horror would inevitably return, rising as the coil of traitorous pressure churning deep in his belly refused to lessen. Moments where his own body betrayed him, becoming the enemy, the epitome of everything he fought against, everything he saw as immoral and wrong, faceless and growing until he was all but drowning in it..

.._But worse still was the fact that deep down, he knew that those echoes..brought forth by his faithless lips, always held the same terribly damning name.._

The hair on the back of his arms rose, the bruised skin pebbling up with a rash of goose flesh as he fought to gain control over his own tumultuous thoughts. _But again, control was elusive..Treacherous...Duplicitous..Just like the echoes._

But left unprivy to the tumultuous nature of his inner thoughts, Daniel lurched out of his chair as frustration broiled over. He could even discern the motion as his thick limbs began trembling, abandoning the arm chair entirely in favour of a sudden burst of feverish pacing.

Wide palmed hands brushed unconsciously though the thick brown curls, upsetting the nose piece of his glasses as his slipper clad feet cut long hushing lines into the pale carpeting. And hecould only watch, fingers clenching around the warming mug still clutched firmly in his hands. Hanging on to the ceramic like it was some sort of life line..

But suddenly Daniel stopped. His hand coming down abruptly, cutting them both off in mid-thought, the man's kind face going distant and complex, as if something had only just occurred to him. And for reasons he could quite bringing himself to face, discomfort descended. It was a thick, suffocating blanket of tension that made him shift in place, crooked fingers twisting deeply into the crinkled bed sheets. _As if trying to rend the fabric in two.._

Daniels lips abruptly fish tailed. Going lax and wide in a way he was certain that someone who was far less jaded and still not partially concussed might have been able to fully appreciate. Pert pink lips gliding over perfect ivory and pearl white sharpness, with the barest hint of a lax, glistening tongue only just visible as the space between the man's lips suddenly widened.

"Oh.." The man said simply, turning back to look at him. Eyes going fever bright and inscrutable before words returned with a vengeance. _"Oh_."

"You _bastard_..You god damn bastard! I saw you go down. You never said _anything_..I couldn't believe..You made me believe that you weren't..That you-!" The man was incoherent, his words abrupt and tone awash with a fractured mess of nonessential babble, the flow cutting off incrementally as he paced around the room, fists clenched at his sides, the skin going white as the pressure of the hold refused to lessen.

He could only blink. The action slow and deliberately measured as he worked through his mounting confusion. What was Daniel talking about?

"Christ, you don't even _**know**_ do you?"

He said nothing. Realization slowly dawning in some far, deeply buried corner of his mind. _But not fast enough apparently._ Because now the man was hovering over him, face only inches from his own before his slightly unfocused eyes could even pick up the movement.

_Oh… _

Clarity abruptly descended, slamming home with all the subtly of a steel toed kick to an unprotected groin…

But he'd never…He hadn't…He didn't want..

And vaguely, somewhere off in a far distant corner of his hind brain, he registered the fact that the voice echoing within had suddenly started screaming…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** There be smut in this chapter. For realises.

**Authors Note #1:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 7**_

The man's lips made him think about the fizzing spark of electrocution and over heated computer servers. With the aftertaste hinting of that iconic hum and buzzing electronic whine that only occurs in the close seconds just before a city wide power outage.

_Singed plastic and electrical burns._

Daniel made a muffled exclamation as his glasses slid down his nose, gravity going murky and versatile as he tossed them behind him with one far flung motion. The thick fingers of his free hand coming up dig into the soft wood of the headboard behind them. Using it to steady himself as Daniel leaned down, the fabric of his button up brushing haltingly across the naked skin of his collarbone in a tantalizing rush of sensation.

Words were falling from the man's lips once again, but he was too distracted by the moment to listen. The only things he recognized were the obscenities, the harsh pants, and the long, drawn out syllables of his name being murmured over and over.. He had had no idea that his name could sound like that…like it was something _sensual_. Something to be treasured and well kept rather then feared.

_And yet he __**still**__ didn't completely understand.. Even when Daniels lips twisted and his tongue peeked out and did that…Oh!-...__**thing..**_

His senses had simply overloaded, too caught up on the feeling as the man's dry lips caught against the scabbed tears that pock marked his own. Everything going slick and absurdly smooth as teeth worried through yielding softness. _His teeth..Daniel's teeth. Everything simply melded together. It was almost too much. _Imploding nerve endings mashing together as heat rose in his throat, rising up from the thrumming coil of confused arousal now pulsing in his belly like a second heart.

He supposed now that it would only be doubly as useless to pretend that he was as cold and heartless as his visage portrayed... After all, all that really mattered was that the criminals and perpetrators he confronted each and every night on the litter strewn city streets actually did.

..Despite his best efforts Daniel himself had never seemed to buy it, never acting like he was in anyway different from anyone else. At first he had been incensed by this. _Insulted._ But eventually he came to realize that this was a courtesy, a closeness…_a friendship_ that Daniel actually bestowed to very few.. Even then, months back when the thought had first occurred, it had been enough to make his limbs shift restlessly. Forcing the sable, inky blots to swirl in confused cyclones across his cheeks, the very edges ghosting tantalizingly close to his fabric covered lips..

_It had been a pattern that he had never seen before…_

The man's hands had gotten caught in the worn fabric of his wife beater, threatening to rend the fabric completely as they curled around the shoulder straps. _Tugging and insistent. _Demanding everything he had left to give. _Things he didn't even know he actually possessed._

Daniel wanted it all. _This_.._Him_..

A dollop of sweat travelled slick, and unhindered down from the arch of his neck, trickling along the curve of his sliced up shoulder to free fall through the open air. The comfort of the blankets now pushed down around his waist suddenly becoming stifling. And almost without thinking about it, he pushed the plush material way, scissoring his legs violently as the duvet slipped to the side, landing on the carpet between them with a soft slump.

Somewhere off to his right, Daniel grunted in breathy approval.

Supernovas were born and lost behind the expanse of his blown lids. _He couldn't for the life of him seem to close them. _The pupils expanding, going wide and uncomprehending as reality and awareness slowly flickered. He felt strangely aware of every breath he took_. _Lungs expanding and contracting as blood cells grew oxygen deprived and desperate. He could even feel it as the muscle spasms went ragged, immersed in layer after layer of siren like softness.

These were the things that he _shouldn't _have felt. They were the simple actions and reactions that the human body cycles through every moment of every day. Permutations and calculations controlled by basic brain functions and commands.

_A mechanization of the flesh._

And yet now, as he skin sparked against the open air, going high pitched and electric with sensations and emotions he hadn't realized were even humanly possible. All those little hidden things, things one so often took for granted, suddenly shone with mirror-like clarity.

_And he wondered off handedly, if people had actually died from this._

He wasn't sure he wanted to remember the flash point. The moment where both sides gave and skin slid across willing skin. Everything else had gotten lost in the shuffle. _The want. _The sudden, heart clenchingly impossible tension of it all.. _Perhaps this was what dying felt like?_

The man's hands were all over him, callous roughened palms smoothing down the coarse lines of his skin, skidding through close to three days of neon auburn scruff and dirty, unwashed cheeks. Curling under the rucked up hem of his shirt to spread, searing hot down the quivering flesh of his belly.

The movements were reckless and head strong, leeching erotic intent and determination across the surface of his flesh. And yet, beneath it all, with movements so like the man himself, each and every motion was under laid by a soft, connecting thread of inherent gentleness.

And **that **would simply **not** stand…

He made a noise that might have been considered as scandalized when Daniel's teeth closed around his lower lip. But the inflection of the moment was lost when his body chose that moment to surge upward, shoulders screaming as his arms wrapped firm and insistent around the mans hips as he brought Daniel's weight downwards. Nerve ending singing as Daniel fell astride him, hips grinding together with a glorious burst of sparking fiction along his groin. Thus rendering both the noise and the thoughts behind it all but useless..

_And he couldn't help the moment of self effacing smugness that took hold when the echoes of Daniel's pleasured curse bounced back at them from the vaulted, bedroom ceiling._

He wondered if it was always like this, where everything becomes frantic and awkward, tinged in desperation and unquenchable lust. Where both parties are half afraid that the other might suddenly pull away, and half afraid that they _won't_.

He cried out in surprise and unexpected pleasure as Daniel's lips wrapped around the base of his neck, teeth digging in as if to express all the frustration..all the tension desire, need, and want that they were both inexplicably feeling. The action pulsed with cacophonous melody of sensation, with each contradicting the other as they all demanded to be expressed.

..And he couldn't help but dig his fingers into Daniel's mop of thick brown curls, his mangled hands suddenly coming alive under the sensation of all that softness.. _Silk._

He didn't have words to describe this. He would try, perhaps later, in the seclusion of his old flat, flipping through the pages of his old elementary school grammar, fingers pausing against the mice shredded edges as the delicate pages rippled warningly. Fluttering violently, with each and every growingly frustrated flip of the page.

He gritted his teeth against it, unable to accept the sudden burst of pleasure as he teetered on the precipice of something he could neither name or define.

_..He wanted to run and never come back. _

_..Yet at the same time he knew he would never be able to bring himself to leave.._

And when it came, enveloping him like tidal wave barrelling towards an unsuspecting harbour, he barely had the moment to realize that the startled, but undeniably pleasurably howl he had initially taken for the canine that had been hounding them ever since that moment in that alleyway, echoing desperate, yet undeniably proud in his ears, was in fact, coming from his _own_ battered throat…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**A/N #2: **This is the second last chapter! Whoooooooo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Watchmen or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Warnings:** There is more smut in this chapter. Um…I think that's it..

**Authors Note #1:** *****This is the final chapter of this work and I wanted to thank each and every one of you that reviewed, your kind comments, and lively reviews really kept me interested and on a roll with this story. Thank you once again; you guys totally rock my socks!

_**Howl at the Shadows**_

_**Chapter 8**_

He woke with a start, limbs flailing momentarily as he registered the unfamiliar feel of warm flesh pressing up against his skin. All bed warmed limbs and the familiar tang of morning breath, the easy slide hampered only by the frenetic tingle of morning stubble and stubborn limbs. _Yielding, sensual, willing, and wanton…_

_...No!_

In the backdrop of his conscious mind, the voice awoke with an uncertain hiss. Retreating a few mental steps backwards before stubborn pride and sheer will power halted it in its tracks. Drawing itself up against the confusion and growing discomfort in order to take stock of what had actually happened.

He forced himself still and concentrated on simply breathing. Bruised ribs screaming abuse as the back of his head throbbed reproachfully in response. Except in the end that only ended up making it _worse_, because this was Daniel's _house_.. This was his _room_, his _bed_, and _everything_ smelled of him. It was a lot like drowning, only somewhere along the line he had abandoned the common sense in which to pull himself back to the surface.

He'd lost that somewhere in between noticing the way his partner's hair had curled. Lying flattened, yet somehow still rambunctious when he pulled off his cowl for the first time a few months into their partnership. Or the moment last night..or perhaps even this morning, when he had _buried_ his fingers in those same brown curls and _pulled_.

And it had felt like something inside him had broken, shattering into a thousand damning little pieces when Daniel's moan had echoed out into the silence. _Everything had ceased to make sense after that. _Sin and redemption, right and wrong, lust and control, abstinence and indulgence, it no longer made any sense._ There was only Daniel._

_.. Daniel.._

After a few long moments the panic eased, and he sucked in a few solid lungfuls of air for good measure, ignoring the way his bruised ribs twinged, creaking warningly in that unique, but dangerous way that usually meant a cracked rib cage and partially collapsed lungs. _He had been lucky. Very lucky._

Despite his best intentions, his eyes inevitably fell upon the hand resting across the crook of his arm, lax with sleep but somehow still insufferably insistent._ Like a conversation without words._ The hand was big, big in the way that _everything_ was big about Daniel. All wide palmed and long fingered. The fingers themselves were thick and strong, mostly straight and uncrooked, free of the damage that time and countless years of wilful neglect had ravaged on his own. _Pure. _While in comparison he didn't have a finger that _hadn't_ been broken at some point. With each bone partially splintered and slightly crooked, the knuckles permanently swollen, with joints that never failed to complain against the abuse during the cooler seasons.

'_Necessary sacrifice.'_ The voice crowed.

…He felt practically mellow. _Cored out and strange._ Almost as if he were given long enough to think about it, he might come up with the word: _"content."_…

His mind literally tripped over itself as disbelief rattled through him. The tumultuous emotion triggering a heady blush that flared up from his collarbone. Chasing the heat coursing across the span of his cheeks as it went, the sensation explicit and far too damning_._ He forced himself to shake the errant thought away, favouring others that were easier, and indeed far _safer_ to define.

Running a hand across the back of his head, he gazed stalwart into the stillness. Despite the shutter banked gloom he could only just make out their silhouette reflecting back at him from the wall length mirror that spanned the length of Dan's closet. His dark eyes glared back. _Accusing._ But he ignored the sight favour of taking stock of himself.

He took in the damage with little reaction. Accepting what he saw the same way he did every morning when he woke up, splashing water in his scummy sink as he looked back at himself through the cracked, moisture splotched mirror. Though even he had to admit, as he angled his face to better catch the light, that he had certainly looked better.

_The Comedian probably would have said he looked like hammered shit. Privately he might have even agreed.. _

His face was a mess of jagged edges and harsh angular corners. A certain bruised sharpness that was metallic and unyielding. Even his freckles had disappeared under a cloying layer of fresh, impetuous looking bruises; making the scars of old cuts and gashes stand out starkly against the darkened canvas of his battered skin.

Even the violent red of his hair stood out like some sort of perverse sort of emergency beacon, sticking out in sleep mussed tufts from in between the hastily wrapped gauze cap that held the bandage firmly in place over the back of his head.

He fell back on his elbows only reluctantly, finally recognizing the weakness in his limbs and the dazed quality of his thoughts for what they actually were. A nasty head wound and blood loss. _It was to be expected he supposed._

_But still, what he saw reflected back at him was not what he was looking for._

He wasn't exactly sure _what_ he was looking for. _A sign?.. Something to mark what had happened? _But there was nothing save for the bandage and the two black eyes that hadn't been there before, glowing unapologetically amidst a mess of purple and black bruises beneath his steady, ice blue eyes.

Indeed except for a face that had been dealt its rightful punishment for their lack of vigilance, nothing tangible had changed.

_But that wasn't right. He felt…He felt-..._

He shook his head, confusion burbling in his gut like the unmistakable gnaw of hunger, frothingly angry and insistent in his empty belly. But he distracted himself by pushing at the scratchy softness of the gauze now hanging over the arch of his brow bone, misting over just enough that it impeded his vision.

His eyes tracked back towards his reflection. _He could only stare._

He stared because there was no shame reflecting back at him. There was no disgust or condemnation visible in his gaze. Instead there was only disquiet, exhaustion, and a silent little tremor of an emotion that he couldn't yet define. He blinked slowly and deliberately, but the face staring back at him refused to change.

_This wasn't what he had expected. There was supposed to be shame, horror, anger, and regret. Not this..uncertanity..this warmth?_

He made a deep sound in the back of his throat that was all broken vowels and jagged base sounds as he struggled to articulate his frustration, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably as he momentarily forgot that he wasn't alone.

Lucky for him however his companion slept on. Shifting in his sleep restlessly, but not waking. His breath snuffling into the pillow as it slowly deepened, lengthening as one smooth cheek mashed into the crease between their two pillows as a restless leg arched into free space, sliding clear off the bed in a long… agonizing motion. The sheets twisted impossibly around them both as Daniel turned onto his chest, snoring into the pillows. The sound muffled only slightly admist the tangled, sleep laden layers.

..Only he hardly noticed, because the hand that had been resting on his arm had moved. Curling around his hip, as Daniel's splayed fingers fit into the dips and curves of the arch like a puzzle piece clicking home..

For a moment he refused to breathe. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth perceptively against the onslaught of horror, revulsion, and shame… Only it never came. He waited longer..yet still nothing… _He didn't understand that. This was not how this was supposed to go.._

He blinked into the darkness, eyes straying as he took in the way Daniel's spine arched forward with every breath he took. _The sight addictive in a way he didn't quite know how to describe.._

As it was, Daniel was a jumbled mess of perfection. A stunning mixture of hard edges and malleable limbs, skin only recently toughened with hard working muscle over the recent months spent almost solely on the streets. _He couldn't help but look. _Eyes greedily taking in the sleepy mess of long clean lines and muscled softness, curves that arced unapologetically down his toned back and thighs. Curving along his shoulders, and marred only by the occasional scar or half healed bruise.

'_Beautiful…_' The voice whispered, the word coming out in a mournful sounding crone that scared him more then the nature of the word itself. The tone was like a caress, heated, and all but twitching at the tip of his tongue, as if somehow desiring to be voiced even as the memories of what had happened only hours before cycled through his tired mind.

There should have been lancing pain and indecision. Self reclamation and abasement. But there wasn't. _And perhaps that would all come later.. _Because now in it's place, there was only the memory of flashes of skin reflecting in the cool lamp light, the amber glow reaching outwards as Daniel suddenly writhed and keened, with wetness spurting over his uncertain fist as the man went tense, and then limp with release.

He remembered the moment where he felt the those muscles slowly relaxing, slumping fully against him in honest, sensual exhaustion as Daniel swiped his hand across his forehead, his fingers combing through the sweat dampened curls that rested there as he grinned cheekily, all soft edges and erotic promises from the close distance between them.

Then there was only the soothing pet of the mans hand against his thigh, the threadbare fabric of his trousers peeling back as the man shushed him when he made a sound of discomfort that had nothing to do with his straining member. But the man had only smiled encouragingly, calloused fingers running along his length until rational thought fled and the rushing thud of his own pulse rose, echoing deafening at his temples.

He remembered how his eyes had fluttered shut, head falling back against the pillows as his body tensed, arching upwards as his body wantonly demanded what his lips could not ask for. He had stuttered in confusion then, when the man kneeling above him had suddenly paused. The inaction causing him to crack a near panicked lid just in time to watch as Daniel's lips arched upwards, going mischievous and incorrigible before enveloping him.

_Wicked mouth. Wicked tongue.. Then only static._

He shook his head minutely; face expressionless despite the memories that still played out, lurid and phantasmagorical in the backdrop. His face heated, but he could discern no regret. Never regret. _Not with Daniel._

Still, he couldn't help but feel somehow inadequate in comparison. As if he was stuck leaving love poetry on local bathroom stalls rather then composing grand sonnets on expensive papyrus. _It was an emotion that he neither enjoyed nor particularly relished._

But a single fact still remained. That he had bent, and yet somehow, he had not broken.. He didn't understand how this was possible. But perhaps, in the end he didn't have to. _Maybe this..whatever this was, would be enough.._

So with a deep, measured breath he closed the distance between them, a single crooked finger brushing over the top of the mans hand as he pulled him into the curve of his chest and closed his eyes. And this time the voice said nothing, humming softly, _contented and still_ in the distant background, the sound melding together the steady beat of Daniel's breathing, lulling him slowly back to sleep.

…And if he thought anything more about howling dogs and the problems of tomorrow… _Well_.. He was long asleep before he had a chance to remember…

**A/N #1:** Please let me know what you think. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!


End file.
